Almost an Earl
by FrenchieLeigh
Summary: Struggling to fit into the whirlwind that is high society, bitter war hero Levi Ackerman finds hope in the sweet yet fiery Petra Ral. When admiration turns to affection and the demons of his past take root, he is shown that he doesn't have to be alone, and that hearts, even as broken as his, can be mended. Historical Romance AU
1. Introductions

**Author's Note: **I can't be stopped.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan characters.

**Almost an Earl**

Chapter One

"Miss?"

Petra squinted her eyes, leaning forward on her piano bench, marking the manuscript paper before her. _That F should be sharp_.

"Miss?"

She plucked the key a few times, testing the note in her head, then wiggled her bottom on the seat, playing the phrase with her new adjustment.

"Miss."

Still, it didn't sound quite right. With a small huff, she dipped the nib of her quill into the blotter and again moved to revise the parchment before her.

"Miss _Ral!_"

Ink scribbled across the sheet as she jumped, so focused on writing a waltz for her parents that she hadn't even noticed the maid at the door, calling for her attention.

"Oh," she sighed, tucking the paper behind a page that wasn't ruined, "I'm sorry." She turned, sending the servant a sunny smile that lit up her glowing honey eyes, "what was it?"

The maid pursed her lips, still unused to her mistress' habits of losing herself in the arts. "Your uncle requires your presence in his study," she replied tersely, bobbing a curtsey and leaving the room.

Petra wasted no time in scrambling from the piano bench, smoothing out her jade skirts as she made a dash for the door. If her uncle was calling, it was her duty to see to him.

She had arrived at the grand estate two years ago, when she was just seventeen. Before her life of silks and pearls in the city, she had lived a modest life with her parents in a small town in the country. Her parents ran the town's bakery and though they were not well off, they wanted for very little. It was a good life.

War broke out in a distant land, calling their kingdom's soldiers and it was then, at twelve years old, she had first met her uncle. He had knocked on their kitchen door one sunny summer afternoon in the most expensive clothing she had ever seen. He wasn't flamboyant, but sharp. Dressed entirely in black with a simple turquoise stickpin in his cravat, she had never seen such a man.

The same could not be said for her mother. As it happened, Philippa Ral had been the illegitimate offspring of a duke and a servant girl. To keep the scandal secret, the girl and her child had been sent away from the grounds with ample funds to survive and never spoke again. Though she understood her heritage, Philippa was quite happy in the town, and had little desire to make an attempt at family with her father's other, very legitimate child.

But now, as the only living member of his family, Lord Erwin Smith, now the Duke of Karenese had sought out his elder half-sister and her family alongside his solicitor, with the promise of his fortune bequeathed to them in the event of his death should he perish in battle. Petra understood very little of this at the time, taking away nothing more from it other than she had an uncle that was nobility. How exciting for her, she thought.

It was five years before they saw him again.

When he returned to the kingdom, he came to the bakery battered, and with one less arm.

He came with a proposition.

Petra was a young woman, seventeen years old. As he had no wife, and was now a little bit less useful than before, he suggested the sweet copper haired girl come to live with him in his city home. There he would bestow upon her every comfort of a lady, as well as a hefty dowry. In exchange she was to be his companion and assistant in running his grand estate. He needed not only the presence of someone young and innocent to soothe his aching soul, but a woman's touch in his home, as his mother had been long dead, and he had no eyes to marry soon.

With quick hugs all around, Petra bid farewell to her family, hopped up into the black lacquered carriage, and headed off to start a life in the high city of fashionable society.

Two years later, at nineteen, she knocked on the door to her uncle's study, a sunny smile ready on her face.

"Uncle?"

The duke looked up from his parchment, his handwriting ugly and awkward, even two years after losing his dominant hand.

"Ah," he said, dropping his quill, "there's something I'd like to discuss with you."

She quirked a playful brow, lifting her skirts a bit and sashaying towards the desk. "Something exciting?" she wondered, coming to stand behind him, a gentle hand on his strong shoulder.

"I like to think so," he muttered, holding up the parchment so that she could read.

"A guest list?"

"And a menu," he added, holding up another. "I'd like you to review them and give me your approval."

"What's this for?" she asked, noting a name at the bottom of the list, "…Mr. Levi Ackerman?"

"Yes," Erwin confirmed, sitting back in his chair. "Lance Corporal. An old friend of mine. We've won the war because of him."

"A war hero then. Like you."

He smiled slightly. "They're giving him a title, you know."

Petra let out a small sigh, soft and sad. "I'd hate to know what he had to do in order to earn that." She set the first piece of paper back onto the desk, moving on to the menu. "It seems to me that war heroes are heroes in everyone's eyes but their own."

He gave a small 'hm' of agreement, glancing to his right arm, or at least what was left of it. Truer words he hadn't heard in many years.

"He'll be staying with us," he told her, "until his estate is in order. Shouldn't be more than a month."

"We can't have the peanut sauce tonight," she said, giving his shoulder a small squeeze, "Mr. Berner has bad reactions to the legumes."

"Right, right."

"And perhaps we should invite a few more of the younger folk as well."

Erwin cocked his head, looking back to her. "You intend to throw a full on welcome celebration for my dear friend?"

She laughed. "It's not that, uncle, but the way it stands, Mr. Ackerman and I will be the only unmarried people in attendance, save you. Some might say you would be trying to arrange a match between us."

He let out a belt of genuine laughter then, reaching for the parchment and his quill once again. "I won't be bringing gossip upon you, my dear," he chuckled, adding a few names to the list "you've got enough trouble with that Bossard fellow."

Petra took hold of the revised list, pursing her lips. "And yet you still see the need to invite him to our social gatherings."

Erwin rapped on the wooden desktop. "Ah well, I've got to keep you on your toes."

**xxxx**

"Please, have my seat, Lady Dawk."

Petra stood up from the chaise as she said her hellos, taking the gently bred lady's hand, easing her down onto the cushion.

"Oh please, darling," came the reply, as Marie Dawk brushed a rogue golden curl from her forehead, "Marie is just fine."

Petra wasn't sure she would ever address her so informally; she was a friend of her uncle, much older than herself, and a noblewoman to boot. She was happy to be accepted into Lady Dawk's good graces and that was enough for her.

"Are we taking bets on the sex yet?"

Beside Petra, another woman flashed a mischievous smile, her spectacles catching the glint of the room's light. Her chestnut hair was tied up, left uncurled, a direct stab at society fashion and the roles expected of her.

Marie ran a gentle hand across the swell of her belly, draped in lilac silks and cream lace. "Ah. . ." she sighed, "I'm certain it'll be a girl."

"Again?"

"Yes, Hanji, again."

Petra held back a bit of laughter. She slid her gaze over to where the men gathered, taking note of Marie's husband, Nile. The distress on his face told her they were discussing the same topic and with three daughters at present, the Duke of Sina was already in despair over thoughts of wardrobes and dowries and quite honestly, did not want to add more expenses of bringing up yet _another_ society lady.

His eldest was six.

Seated next to the duchess, a petite blonde cracked a slight smile. "Perhaps I should stop my husband," she said, also watching as her own spouse, the largest and most muscular in structure, cracked some sort of joke over the heart of Nile Dawk, "he may very well give yours a stroke."

"Don't you worry about Nile, Nanaba," Marie replied, waving such thoughts away, "his anxiety is his own doing. We all know that."

Petra, Hanji, and Nanaba all nodded in solemn agreement.

The butler arrived in the doorway of the salon then, announcing the arrival of a Mr. Levi Ackerman and Petra excused herself from the group of ladies, seeing to her duty of playing hostess.

"Mr. Ackerman," she greeted, dropping a low curtsey before him, not yet taking in his appearance, "I thank you for your service to our kingdom and pray you enjoy your stay in our home."

"I see Erwin wasted no time finding a senseless bird to secure his legacy. Tell me, chicken, are you pregnant yet?"

The cold words cracked over Petra's bowed head like lightning, freezing her where she stood. So shocked was she by his audacious assumption, she couldn't find it in her to rise to her full height, lift her chin, and respond in kind. Instead, she searched for the air his abrasiveness had robbed of her.

"You are mistaken, sir," she breathed, standing slowly, her jaw tight, but our of respect for her uncle, she resisted the urge to give the (surprisingly small) man before her a solid tongue lashing.

Instead, she forced out a strained smile. "I am not the lady of the house."

Whether Erwin noticed the tension brewing between the two or simply arrived at the opportune moment, she would never know, but when she felt the comfort of his arm draped around her shoulder, she knew she had the upper hand.

"While Petra is my niece, not my wife, she is very much the lady of the house. I'd be quite lost without her."

Before them, Levi Ackerman stood, head to toe in black, save his stark white cravat, and never once allowed his mouth to do anything other than frown.

"Your niece."

Petra stood up a bit straighter, preparing to throw him a satisfied smirk that might set his foot into his mouth when her uncle's arm fell away from her, wrapping instead around the man before them, drawing him close.

"Welcome home, my old friend."

Levi didn't return the sentiment, his deep eyes, haunted under the furrow of his brows and his jaw set so hard his teeth protested the action.

As she watched the exchange, Petra felt a deep pit growing inside of her. Levi was a different sort of soldier than her uncle. He was not gallant and graceful, nor was he dismissive and hearty, as Hanji and Mike were. No, this Mr. Ackerman was broken and defeated, even as he stood before her a hero.

He was, she realized, as he watched the festivities with an unimpressed air, a dangerous man.

"Petra, dear."

Her attention refocused and she quirked her head. "Yes, uncle?"

"Perhaps you'd take Mr. Ackerman for a turn about the room. Introduce him to our friends."

Levi scowled. "I know almost everyone here."

But Erwin would not be anything less than a gracious host. He smiled. "Petra."

She bobbed a small curtsy at him, then turned to her guest with a warm look. "Shall we, Mr. Ackerman?"

_No, we shall not, _is what he wanted to say, cross his arms more tightly, and disappear against a wall. He had no need for chitchat, for taking senseless _turns about the room_. But he also had no home to call his own, no place to rest his head while his affairs were put in order. It wouldn't do to be ungrateful. So, with a stiff nod, he uncrossed his arms.

Erwin cleared his throat. "Levi."

The shorter man looked up and Erwin wiggled his bent elbow in the air, his eyes nodding towards his niece.

_No._

"I have no need for—"

"A _gentleman_," he was reprimanded, "will escort a lady."

Fine. Fine, fine, _fine_. With a jerking motion, he offered his arm to the girl beside him and though she seemed to be well trained enough in the arts of doing Erwin's bidding, she looked at it as if it were poison.

The expression didn't last long, replaced by a sweet smile that caused him to savor the feel of her tiny hand resting upon the crook of his elbow, and a soft beckoning of his name that made him step forward obediently as if he would follow her to the ends of the earth.

What an absurd notion. She was Erwin's _niece_ for God's sake.

Still, she was Erwin's niece.

Not Erwin's wife.

Petra decided it would be best to visit with the women first. It would be much easier to excuse herself from his prickly words if he were with his own sex than it would be to scold him and send her away from hers. Still, her mouth just couldn't resist begging the question tugging at her brain.

"Is that truly how you would speak to a duchess?" she wondered aloud.

So she had been bothered by his greeting.

"It's how I would speak to most anyone," he replied stiffly.

She hid her annoyance behind a sigh, searching her skirts for her fan. She'd be needing it.

"Well I do hope you'll be a bit gentler with the ladies Dawk and Zakarius," she told him, making a slow show of unfolding the embroidered silk before she tapped the top of it against her nose, hiding her mouth, "they're actual nobility, unlike myself."

Levi snorted. "Respect is earned, not deserved."

"They are kind and gentle women," was her defense, "and they will accept you into our circle with open hearts. They do not deserve such harsh words."

"So I need to be accepted into the circle."

It was meant to be a teasing remark, an effort in flirtation that he had seen once or twice, but instead his words were cold and scathing, a show of his distaste for the upper crust of society. He saw her jaw clench, but as before, she recovered with the grace of an angel. A weaker man wouldn't have noticed the offense at all.

"You are always welcome in our home," she told him with a sweet voice, her fingers tightening their grip ever-so-slightly on his arm as she said so, a display in affection and reassurance. She was good, probably perfect. He didn't know much about how things were done in polite society, but in the five minutes that he'd known her, Levi found himself remarkably impressed with her.

They arrived at the gathering of settees where the women had arranged themselves, occupying their time with whatever it was that well bred ladies spoke about. Lace hankies and lilac trees, he imagined.

He gave slight bows to the two young girls whose names were forgotten as soon as Petra spoke them, and laid awkward but gentle kisses on the knuckles of Lady Dawk and Lady Zakarius (Mike had done well for himself). When they turned to Hanji Zoe, the lady knight, he needed no introduction.

"Hanji."

For the first time possibly since Petra had met her, Hanji was at a loss for words. Her eyes glistened with tears of relief but she never let them fall.

"It's good to see you, Levi," she said, "welcome home."

He let out a small breath of air, giving her a once over. "You haven't got a curtsy for me?"

Hanji let out a small bark of laughter, crossing her arms over her chest. He'd never seen her in a gown before and truth be told she had surprised herself when she added them to her wardrobe.

"I curtsy for no man!" she cried, ruffling his dark hair. He protested with a swat of his free arm, and Lady Dawk shook her head out of affection for the radical brunette.

"Not even your husband?" This time he was able to tease and though his face bore indignation, his tone took a slight air of humor, one that caused her to break out into a toothy grin.

"Especially not Moblit," she laughed before lowering her voice, "but I can get him to curtsy for _me."_

Levi waved his hand at this, not wanting to hear about whatever intimate games she was playing with her husband, a man Levi knew just as well as he knew her. She chuckled again, this time putting her hand to his shoulder.

"Still," she told him, her voice losing all of its jest, "I can't be more thankful that you've returned to us."

He didn't respond, unable to feel the same way. Too many had _not_ made it back. Why had he?

"And look at you," she added, motioning to Petra, "you've already got a cute girl on your arm."

"Oh stop it, Hanji," Petra scolded playfully, hiding a practiced smile behind her fan, "don't torment my guest."

Their next stop was at the chess table, where two men were invested in a friendly match, with a third watching and providing commentary. Of these men, Levi didn't know a single face, but when Petra introduced them warmly as her friends, he didn't dislike them.

Erd Gin was an agreeable man with a firm handshake that Levi appreciated. The same could be said for Gunther Schultz. He was the more serious of the two and through the conversations spoke very little. Levi didn't quite know what to make of the third member of this trio, the scowling yet goofy Auruo Bossard. It was quite clear that he was Petra's least favourite of the men before them and the way he flip flopped between hanging on her every word like a lost puppy and curling his lip at her suggested that he was very much in pursuit of her affections.

How annoying.

"You know Petra," Auruo drawled, his familiar tone lingering with the group, "we know you aren't married and all, but there's no need to be hanging all over this guy. There's a difference between hostess and harlot."

Levi bristled at this. Her gentle hold on him was nothing short of polite and appropriate. To sling such an insult at her irritated him, his frown sinking deeper and deeper. Did she not consider this idiot to be her friend? But the girl in question was not put off by this comment in the slightest.

Instead, she stepped closer to the man at her side, hugging his arm to her and, tucking her fan under her arm, put her free hand to his chest.

"Your jealousy is exposed, Auruo," she purred, giving Levi's cravat a small, and completely unnecessary straightening, "and it's hideous."

Retrieving her fan, she snapped it open, her once calm and warm eyes narrowed dangerously across the place where they stood.

Embarrassed by her remark, Auruo turned to the side with a huff. "There's nothing to be jealous about," he bit off, "so go show off your new toy to someone else, peasant girl."

Levi's gaze slid over to the girl on his arm. Peasant girl?

Color rose up in Petra's features then and for the first time since he'd met her, she was unable to come up with anything in return.

"Until dinner," she settled on, bobbing to Erd and Gin, but giving Auruo the back of her fan as she practically dragged Levi away from the group.

How interesting.

When they came up to the last group, Mike Zakarius yanked the small man right off out of Petra's hand, pulling him into an embrace so tight Petra wondered if he was making up for the weak one-armed one her uncle was able to give.

It warmed her to see these displays of affection from her friends. They cared for this man. They loved him. He was their comrade, their friend, and she had no doubt that he considered them family in return. He was rude and difficult, but human, just as they all were.

He was returned to Petra's side with a sideways smile and an apology from Mike (which she accepted with a giggle), but the moment of ease and sentiment ended with a jolt when Levi set his eyes on Nile Dawk.

"Was it comfortable, Nile?"

There was an acid in his tone as he spat out the words, his upper lip curling and his brow coming down far over his eyes.

"My life has always been quite comfortable, Levi, thank you."

"You fucking coward."

Petra straightened, shocked (though she supposed she shouldn't have been) at his choice of language.

"Mr. Ackerman," she started gently, putting a calming hand on his elbow. He shook her off with a grunt, not wanting any more of her reprimanding.

The Duke of Sina cleared his throat. "You are in civilized company, Levi," he reminded the corporal, "be sure to act as such."

"Do you have any idea how many men died? How many husbands and fathers came home in a wooden _box_?"

Petra knew she should have bowed out of this conversation. It wasn't her place to speak of war, and it also wasn't in here interests so she knew little about it. What she _did_ know, and what she assumed to be the root of the tension between these two, was that Levi Ackerman had fought tooth and nail on the front lines for seven years, and Nile Dawk had worked intelligence from the comfort of his own estate.

"Erwin lost his arm," Levi growled, the dark shadow over his face growing deeper and deeper, "Hanji, her sanity."

Nile sat back. His eyes were nervous, but he didn't falter. "And what did you lose, Corporal? Your humanity? It's not like you had much to begin with."

In a flash, Levi lunged forward, pulling the duke up by his lapels. As he moved, his elbow smashed into Petra's jaw, sending her toppling over sideways with a small yelp, catching herself on the pianoforte.

"I spent seven years watching the guts spill out of _good men_," he hissed, "my face sprayed with the blood of kids not old enough to leave the schoolroom. And all the while you sat in your golden palace fucking your wife!" He shoved Nile back into his seat, jabbing an accusatory finger at him. "You have _no _right. _NO right_ to call yourself a fucking soldier."

The room was silent and Levi's chest heaved. He felt the strong hand of Mike Zakarius on his shoulder and he was thankful for it. Mike would be able to hold him back if he needed it.

Nile had nothing to say.

From the corner of his eye he could see Erd Gin lifting Petra's chin, examining the red mark on her jaw. _Fuck_.

"Are you alright?" the blonde asked her, thankful there was no blood. He'd seen how hard she had been hit.

"Oh," she said, waving him off and giving her upper arm a small rub, "Of course. It's not the first time I've fallen into a pianoforte and it won't be the last."

Of course. How silly he had been to imagine Petra Ral would admit to being hurt.

A footman entered then, announcing dinner and everyone was thankful for a change of scenery, and to escape from the awkwardness of what had just transpired. Levi turned, ready to apologize to his sweet hostess (as best he could manage), and walk her to the dining hall, but she had already taken up the arm of her friend.

He followed the crowd out of the salon, taking up a place beside Erwin, and keeping completely silent. He suppose he owed him an apology too, but they'd speak later as men, as comrades, and as friends. He knew he he was safe in this house.

Still, as he was seated at the grand table set with a feast for days, he found himself across from Petra and the bruise that was already forming on her face. He kicked himself inwardly, wanting to bury his fingers in his hair and pull the strands out one by one. If he wasn't able to control himself, he wouldn't survive in this den of wolves.

From down the table he could feel the cold stare of Auruo Bossard. Of course.

He sighed.

"Is everything alright, Mr. Ackerman?"

Pulled from his thoughts by the female voice that was growing more familiar to him by the second, he cleared his throat and nodded. "I'm tired," he replied, a solid truth.

"Well you needn't be worried," she replied, whispering a kind _thank you _to the servant that filled her champagne glass, "I do think you'll find your bed here quite comfortable."

And as he looked at the crystal glasses before him and the gold leaf on everything human hands could touch, he didn't doubt it for a second.

**xxxx**

**Author's Notes: **I'm taking a stab at Levi actively pursuing Petra and thought it might be more suited to my tastes to give them all poofy ballgowns, obscene estates, and annoying social protocol. :D Thanks for reading; I hope you enjoy this one!


	2. Games

**Author's Note: **I'm really excited that you guys liked this one so much. I'm definitely having fun with these losers.

**Disclaimer**: I do not own any of the official Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan characters.

**Almost an Earl**

Chapter Two

Games followed dinner and if there was one thing Levi was most certainly not in the mood for it was _games_.

Oh, but Miss Ral had games planned for them after they had stuffed themselves with chocolate cake and champagne so everyone simply _had_ to retire to the Western drawing room in a hazy group of giggles and flirtatious nudges.

She walked beside him with a soft smile, encouraging, yet silent and though a part of him wanted her to understand that he was not a social man, the other part of him was grateful that despite his lack of sociability, she still saw fit to include him in group activities.

But Levi Ackerman did not play games.

"Please join us if you feel comfortable doing so," had been her parting words as he leaned up against a far wall and she practically skipped over to her peers, clapping her hands lightly while Mike Zakarius tied a blindfold over his wife's eyes.

"I'm no good at this one."

Levi looked up to Erwin who had sidled up beside him with a paternal smile as he watched his friends entertain themselves.

"Bum arm and all."

"More like no arm," Levi muttered, crossing his own limbs and sinking further against the wall.

"I'm not bitter about it, so you needn't be."

Levi shrugged and Erwin said nothing, looking down to his friend and trying to piece together what he might be thinking.

"I'm sorry if this is too much," he settled on, thinking that perhaps an apology might set the corporal at ease, if only slightly, "my niece is quite the hostess and I hate to deprive her of an opportunity."

It wasn't Petra that had Levi in such a sour mood. She was surprisingly delicate about him and as much as he wanted to resent her, he couldn't find it in him to do so.

Everyone else, however, all of his friends, his comrades, the people who had been by his side, shedding the same blood, how did they manage to be so… carefree?

"This life is bullshit," he said, "what are we even doing here?"

Erwin cocked a brow. "How do you mean?"

Levi's mouth turned down. He wasn't good with words so he didn't know how to express his annoyance.

"There are too many who didn't come home this time. Too many families with one, or two less members or more. Wives and mothers will sleep clutching whatever scrap of clothing might have come home with the corpses." He grit his teeth. "And we're playing fucking _games_."

Erwin closed his eyes for a moment, nodding in understanding.

"There are many houses that mourn today, tomorrow, and for the weeks to follow," he agreed, "but the deaths of those we have lost should not rob us of celebrating those we haven't. The war is over, Levi. We have won, and you are alive. There is so much to be thankful for tonight."

"My life is not cause for celebration, Erwin. You know that."

"You led our troops to victory. I'm surprised the king himself didn't request an audience with you."

"I led my boys to their deaths," Levi snapped in return, "every fucking one of them." He exhaled, then leaned his head back, swallowing hard. "I lost all of them."

Erwin offered his silence for a few moments, for the lives of the boys under Levi's direct command. Though he didn't know who they had been, he did know that they had been hand picked by the corporal himself. That being the case, he knew they had not been soldiers to be taken lightly, and their deaths had not come easy. Above all, he noticed Levi referred to his unit as his 'boys'.

They had been children.

With a gentle sigh, he nudged Levi's shoulder and pointed ahead at the festivities in the room.

"Allow me to offer a different perspective, my friend."

Levi grunted.

"Just look at them."

The command was soft, almost sympathetic, and Levi felt his shoulders relax just a fraction while Lady Zakarius wobbled about the room, trying to tack a feather to a tapestry of a naked peacock. She had been spun around, losing her bearing on the room, and giggled lightly when she nearly fell over, rightened by her husband who chuckled with a low, "easy there, darling."

He saw Hanji seated on a stool, legs spread apart, hands between them as she leaned forward, marking Nanaba's feather and mentally calculating where she needed to place _hers_ in order to win. Moblit Berner had a firm hand on his wife's shoulder, his mouth twitching as she rocked the stool, hooting with laughter.

"They're happy, Levi."

And they were. He saw it in Mike's face, the way he smiled so tenderly as he removed his lady's blindfold, congratulating her on her marvelous (though it was far from it) placement of the feather, and pulling her close as she giggled.

He saw it in Hanji and Moblit, the way he worried she'd spun too fast, but guiding her hand slightly, correcting her calculations. It was cheating, but no one cared. He saw it in the two girls who had never experienced trauma, and the three gentleman who were able to remain just that: gentle men.

And then, he saw it in Petra. She had the worst aim of them all, despite the dizziness not affecting her walk, and when she peaked out from the blindfold at her handiwork, she let out a squeal and proclaimed that she had lost, not at all sore about it.

"Let's play again!" she cried, plucking her feather and tack from the fabric.

"This," Erwin said, nodding forward, "this is why I am thankful to be home."

"It's not that simple, Erwin."

"No," he agreed, "no it isn't. But if you can find it in you to accept the fact that you've come home, it is worth it."

But Levi wasn't ready to accept that fact and Erwin knew it. He also understood. The difference between the two of them had been that Erwin _knew_ he needed to lean on someone in order to get through his transition back into society. Levi would try to make it on his own.

That was no good.

"Petra, dear."

The petite redhead gave Auruo Bossard a solid shove towards the tapestry and turned to her uncle with a cheeky grin before excusing herself from the game.

"Perhaps you could show Mr. Ackerman to his quarters," her told her, "I believe he needs a bit of a reprieve from the party."

Levi scowled. He was perfectly capable of wandering the halls on his own. He didn't even need a room, just a settee or a chaise, an armchair even, just somewhere with silence. But, as it had been the entire night, Petra bobbed her head sweetly and took his arm, doing her part to make him comfortable.

They walked without speaking at first, Levi enjoying the chatter from the drawing room growing fainter and fainter with each step they took away from it. They climbed a staircase, rounded a corner, took more stairs, and he began to wonder just how it was they managed to find anything in a house this large. How long had they been walking? Ten minutes? Fifteen? No, it couldn't have been that long.

"I want to apologize, Mr. Ackerman."

He didn't acknowledge her but she wasn't bothered by it.

"When my uncle told me that you would come to stay with us, that you were returning a war hero, I wanted to show you every bit of hospitality. I wanted you to be comfortable knowing that you were in good company, and that your efforts are greatly appreciated by us."

She bobbed her head from side to side as she spoke, as if finding her own words to be folly. Then she sighed, directing her gaze to the marble floor as she walked, her voice dropping to a soft tone of regret.

"Yet I had forgotten the state in which Uncle had returned home. The days he spent in silence, his drawn face and sleepless nights…" She sighed again. "It was inappropriate of me to assume victory would have made you immune to the things you have done."

_The things he had done._

She wasn't a fool.

"In any case," she said, "as I said before, I do hope you'll find your stay enjoyable. The guest wing faces the West and your room has a particularly gorgeous view of the sunset over the gardens."

They arrived at the room, no, the apartment (complete with bed chamber, dressing room, sitting room, and his own bath, she explained with a smile) and he opened the door, saying nothing further. He needed to sleep.

Finally free of the ridiculousness that had been the dinner party, Levi slammed the door to his bedchamber, shutting out his pretty copper haired hostess. Whatever. He would deal with it in the morning. He didn't have the energy for apologies tonight.

"Sir?"

Annoyed, he looked up from pulling off one of his boots and was met with the face of a young man, probably not much older than seventeen, warm eyed and freckled. What did he want?

"I'm Marco," the boy said, keeping a gentle smile on his face, "Miss Ral has assigned me to be your valet while you are in residence here."

Levi blinked. A valet? His own personal manservant?

"That won't be necessary," he clipped, "I just want to bathe and sleep."

"It's already arranged, sir," Marco replied, pulling away a dressing screen to reveal a steaming bath. "would you like help undressing?"

"I'll be quite fine, I think."

Marco nodded, not at all offended and as he kicked off his breeches, Levi grumbled under his breath. Was that was gentlemen did then? Have young boys undress them? How distasteful. But as the tall valet set to work preparing the corporal's nightclothes, he sensed no air of disappointment. He wasn't here for pleasure.

"Please let me know if you'll be needing anything, sir. Shall I leave you to bathe alone?"

Levi stepped into the basin, soaking in the feel of the hot water against his tense flesh. "Do you always ask so many questions?"

"It is only because I do not know how to serve you, sir," came Marco's honest reply, "once I have learned your preferences and routines, you'll hardly notice me."

Levi thought on this for a moment, observing his new servant lighting a candle by the bed and turning down the sheets. He worked diligently, efficiently, and with a pleasant aura.

"Let me ask you something, Marco."

The freckled boy paused, surprised at this. "Of course, sir," he welcomed, "anything."

"With whom do your sympathies lie?"

It was an uncomfortable question, one that Levi was certain the young man wouldn't be able to answer truthfully, but he found himself surprised.

"I have always been loyal to the crown," Marco replied earnestly, "even though I didn't fight for it."

Levi's mouth remained unsmiling, his eyes interested in the words that would give him a decent idea of what kind of boy this Marco was. If he was some sort of fool, he'd speak to Miss Ral and have him removed immediately. He had no time for fools, and needed no servants.

"I would have fought," Marco added before his warm chocolate eyes became dark with a sadness Levi knew all too well, "I should have fought."

"Why didn't you?"

"I made a promise not to," he said, voice becoming heavier and heavier with each word, "to someone who I was very close with. …Someone I loved very much." Marco pulled a towel from beside the tub, setting it on the table, within Levi's reach. "Someone who never came home."

Levi closed his eyes. He wasn't surprised, but to hear it hurt all the same. How many others would he meet, he wondered, that told him of loved ones who perished under his command for the sake of the king?

"I wish I had gone."

The corporal opened his eyes then, sighing. "You wish you could have died beside him."

Marco said nothing and Levi understood. "Too many men died," he said, "I am glad you were not one of them."

With a slight quiver, his lips turned up. "Thank you sir."

"What was his name?"

"Sir?"

"His name," Levi repeated, "what was it?"

It was a name he hadn't spoken in five months, since he had heard the news. It hadn't been given to him; their relationship had been kept a secret from society, but if there was one benefit to living a life of servitude, it was that any information was readily available for the right price.

"Kirschtein," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper, "Jean Kirschtein."

_Mocha skin and freckles all over_.

Levi's breath caught and he locked his eyes with the young man before him. Jean? Jean Kirschtein had been this kid's lover? Of course.

_"What's your name?"_

_ A young soldier stood straight, sheathing his blade and giving his superior a salute. "Jean Kirschtein, sir!" he responded, "from Trost!"_

_ Levi waited a moment, giving the young man a once over. "Come with me."_

_ Jean's face faltered a moment, surprise showing through his otherwise solid confidence, and followed the small corporal. _

_ "You'll be a part of my special operations unit from now on, Kirschtein, so don't die."_

_ A bark of laughter burst from Jean's mouth, even though his better senses told him to keep silent. Levi paused. Had he misjudged?_

_ "I'm sorry sir. It's just that I can't die."_

_ "Don't get cocky, Kirschtein. We can all die. Many have already."_

_ "It's not that," he amended, ducking as they entered the officer's tent where some of his young comrades already waited for them, "it's just that I've got someone waiting for me back home. Someone with beautiful mocha skin and freckles all over. The marrying type."_

_ Levi pulled a stack of paperwork towards him, not showing any interest in what his newest squad member had to say, but appreciating it nonetheless. If he had something to go back to, he'd do everything he could to stay alive. With the death toll of their troops rising, Levi needed that sort of drive. _

_ "Lucky girl," he muttered._

_ "Nah," Jean responded with a grin, "lucky boy."_

**xxxx**

_Drenched in blood that wasn't his own, Levi counted the members of his team. Jaeger, Arlet, Springer, Ackerman, Fubar, Braun, Kirschtein. He hadn't lost any of them. It had been a good day. _

_ But as he watched them shed their gear, their faces drawn, eyes dull and lifeless, his heart sank. Even a good day was one thousand pits of Hell. _

**xxxx**

_"Corporal!" _

_ Levi looked up to the shower of flaming shells headed their way. He grabbed the shoulders of Arlert and Springer, shoving them into the ground, shielding their bodies with his own. They were just boys. He couldn't let them die here. Not like this. _

_ He felt the searing metal tear through his clothing, taking with it the skin of his upper arm, and embedding itself into one of his ribs. He hissed, mentally checking the two boys beneath him for injuries, and rose, breathing hard. Where had that come from?_

_ "Corporal!" _

_ Mikasa Ackerman climbed out from the trench she and Jaeger had dove into just in time to miss the attack. _

_ "I'm fine, Ackerman!" he barked, his voice hoarse and hollow as he coughed, spitting blood into the dirt and snow. Dammit. _

_ "C…Cor…poral."_

_ Levi counted. _

_ Jaeger, Arlert, Springer…_

_ "…corporal."_

_ Ackerman, Fubar, Braun…_

_ "c…"_

_ Where was Kirschtein?_

_ "Kirschtein!" _

_ His ears were ringing. They were always ringing. He couldn't hear a goddamned thing, not anything that mattered. He heard Jaeger bickering with Ackerman, pushing her away. He could hear Springer and Arlert fussing over him, but he couldn't fucking hear Kirschtein. Surely he had some cocky remark about not getting pelted with shrapnel, or an underhanded comment about Jaeger depending on a woman to save his ass._

_ But why couldn't Levi hear it?_

_ Ignoring the pain raging through his body, the corporal lifted his boot, stepping carefully over the bodies of freshly dead men. He couldn't move forward without his unit._

_ "Kirschtein!" _

_ He paid no attention to the desperate cries from his subordinates. Get out of there! They cried, Corporal please! _

_ But he couldn't. Whether more artillery shells were coming for him or not, he didn't know, but these kids, his kids were seventeen years old. He wasn't going to move on without all of them._

_ "…Corporal."_

_ And then, finally he heard it. It was weak, so unlike the Jean he knew, but as he looked down into the snow, there was no mistaking the boy that lay there, unable to move, heart punctured. Blood seeped out of his legs and arms, also littered with jagged shards of metal and Levi fell to his knees, lifting the boy into his arms. _

_ "Shut your mouth Kirschtein. We're moving out." _

_ But even his harsh words weren't very convincing. They were miles away from their camp and their supplies had been scattered during the blast. There was nothing they could do for him. _

_ Jean lifted a weak hand, gripping his leader's arm with a pathetic hold. "If you ever see him," he breathed, "he has beautiful mocha skin and freckles all over."_

_ "I know that," Levi bit off, "that's all you ever say."_

_ Jean smiled, knowing he'd only mentioned it a handful of times, and he sighed, closing his eyes. Levi watched the colour fade from his cheeks and he slapped him quickly. _

_ "Kirschtein!" he barked, "don't you dare fucking die on me."_

_ He looked down at the twisted metal sticking out of his chest. He couldn't remove it. He didn't know how to do it without Jean bleeding out. Hanji would know, but she'd been relieved of her duties almost two years ago. _

_ "Mocha skin and freckles all over," he said lowly, standing and grunting as his own injuries protested carrying the much taller boy, "just think about that."_

_ He took a couple steps forward, but it didn't matter. There was a shudder in Jean's lungs, and Levi's knees began to buckle. He was losing strength. If he didn't clear the area and tend to himself, he'd die here too. _

_ "Mocha skin and freckles all over," he repeated, "Mocha skin and freckles all over. He's waiting for you Kirschtein."_

_ Jean's hand slipped from his arm. He was gone. _

_ Levi fell to the ground as pain shot up the left side of his body and he growled, slapping the soldier's face and grounding out his manta. "Mocha skin and freckles all over. Mocha skin and freckles all over. Mocha skin and freckles all over! Mocha skin and fucking freckles all over __**goddamnit!**__"_

_ It didn't matter. _

_ Breathless he sat, heaving and panting, trying to fill his own lungs. The other members of his unit had found him and they approached cautiously seeing their fallen comrade. Levi ripped the steel from Jean's chest, staring ahead blankly as blood squirted up and into his face before lapping up at the crested jacket the seventeen year old wore. He cursed. He'd lost one._

_ He'd failed them. _

"Mocha skin and freckles all over."

Marco looked to him, having said nothing as his master retreated into his head, replaying the events of the war he had just returned from.

Levi sighed. "That was how he described you."

"You…you knew him, sir?"

A deep frown pulled at his lips. The bathwater had gone cold. What did he say now? He had never dealt with families, with loved ones. What did he _say_? Nothing was going to bring Kirschtein back, but the boy before him had so much hope in his expression, he couldn't remain silent.

"He was one of my best soldiers," he settled on, "and not a day went by where he didn't think of you."

There was a dark, haunted look on his face and Marco refrained from speaking again. He didn't know what sort of memories he had with Jean, and he wouldn't pry. Hearing Jean spoken so highly of by a man of such status put his aching heart at ease and as tears gathered in his eyes, he found an odd sort of peace.

"You can cry if you want to," Levi told him, his voice not much softer, but quiet, an effort in reassurance.

"Do you, sir?"

Levi let out a breath of air through his nose. "I don't cry or laugh." He sighed, tilting his head back and resting it against the back of the bathtub. "I've forgotten how to do both."

"Thank you for the kind words," Marco said quietly, giving his master a deep bow of gratitude, "I will hold them close to me always."

Levi closed his eyes. He needed to sleep.

**xxxx**

Morning did not come quickly, as sleep had eluded the corporal all night, but when the bedside clock read quarter to seven, he thought he might as well rise for the day. There was no use in laying about bed feeling sorry for himself.

Levi looked to the bell pull, knowing that if he rang, Marco would be by his side in a matter of minutes. Seconds maybe. Who knew. He didn't particularly _want_ a servant. He didn't need help dressing, but he did have questions so, with little else to do, he rang for his valet.

As expected, Marco appeared in the bedroom (one minute and fifteen seconds), a soft smile on his gentle face.

"Good morning, master," he greeted, immediately making his way to the dressing room to pick out clothes for the day.

"What time do you wake?" Levi wondered, taking note that the boy was completely dressed and groomed as if it were midday.

"Ah, five o'clock, sir. Unless you would wish I rise earlier."

Five o'clock?

"Why so early?"

"Well," he thought, "before I was assigned to you, I was just a footman and there are many things to be done before the family becomes active. I suppose it was habit to wake early and help out before you called for me."

Levi said nothing, his bored stare looking somewhere off to the right.

"Are you required to do that work while I am in residence?"

Marco shook his head. "Ah, no sir. I am under your command alone."

"And what time is breakfast?"

"Eight o'clock during the week," came the boy's reply, "and nine on Saturdays and Sundays."

Levi cleared his throat. Good then.

"Wake at seven then. Eight on weekends."

Marco blinked. "Sir?"

Was it such a difficult order to comprehend? Levi pulled his nightshirt over his head, accepting the breeches that his valet handed him, and pulling them on.

"Get sleep while you are able," he replied, "if there is one thing I learned in life, it is that."

"Thank you sir."

He found his way to the breakfast room with help from Marco (the boy was incredibly helpful) to find Petra there already, sipping her morning coffee and nibbling on a bit of toast.

"I thought you might take breakfast in your room," she said as he sat down. She handed him the morning's news and he glanced down on at it, wondering if there was anything written that wouldn't make him sick.

"Good morning."

His gruff greeting surprised her and she looked up. His eyes weren't on her, but she could tell by the stiffness in his voice that he hadn't appreciated her own lack of greeting. She didn't seem all that bothered by it, and he supposed he deserved it, slamming the door on her without so much as a thank you and all.

When a footman presented her with a silver tray, Levi turned to his coffee.

"From Mr. Bossard, miss."

Petra lifted the notecard from the tray with a roll of her eyes, sitting back in her seat as she read it, holding it above her head. Levi watched her, amused at how openly she displayed her annoyance.

"You may write Mr. Bossard," she told the footman, "and tell him _no_."

"As it is every day, Miss Ral?"

"As it is every day," she replied, leaning forward and stabbing her eggs with the silver fork in her hand. "And if he asks again, I very well may put a dart in his eye the next time he comes for games."

The footman nodded with a smile and trotted off to do as she requested.

Erwin appeared at the breakfast table then, setting himself down with a grin and leaning over towards his niece. "He wants admission to your boudoir this morning, doesn't he?"

Petra pursed her lips. "How many times have I denied this request, uncle, and _still_ he persists!"

Levi frowned into his coffee. "What business does that shit have in your chambers?" he asked, knowing full well he had no business asking.

"Oh," she laughed, "you know. He wants to watch me dress, feed me gossip and champagne, perhaps begin a game of chess while I ponder my undergarments. . ."

The steely corporal nearly choked on his beverage, eyes darting from Erwin to Petra, neither of whom seemed to be terribly put off by this general notion. With suspicious eyes, he slowly returned the cup to the table.

"And this is commonplace?"

Petra cocked her head, a gesture in genuine curiosity that he wasn't aware of how things were done in the city.

"How long have you been away, Mr. Ackerman?" she wondered, trying to make sense of his ignorance.

"Seven years." The reply was short, snapping from his mouth.

She nodded, giving him a look of understanding he doubted she truly felt, before stabbing a strawberry, waving it around at him.

"Well then since you don't know," she started, grimacing as the fruit flew from the utensil, landing in the porridge across the table, "in the mornings, while well bred ladies ready themselves for the day, admirers and friends gather in their boudoir, gossiping or helping her to pick which stockings she might wear with which slippers and the like."

"That's nonsense."

Petra agreed. "Oh, it is. But I think most of this society is nonsense, no matter how accustomed to it we all are."

Levi's frown deepened and he grumbled into the beverage he had pulled forward again.

"The most popular, of course," she went on, "is that of Sir Hanji Zoe. I've heard people actually place bets on whether she'll be dressed in a gown or breeches that day. Her eccentricities and opinions on what a lady is or isn't are quite revolutionary, actually. It sends her husband into a tizzy, of course, unappreciative of so many men hounding his wife as she dresses, but I think Hanji likes to torment them all."

He snorted. It was true.

"Lady Dawk is also very popular. Of course, I think at this point many of the people visiting her in the morning do so in hopes to be there for the birth of her child."

Erwin 'hmm'd in agreement, nodding over his morning paper.

"Then of course there is Lady Zakarius. _Her_ state of dress is the envy of all society and many vie for a chance to entertain her while she prepares herself. Time in her chambers is welcome to those only with an invitation directly from her. I've only known three people who have received one, and only one of those people was a gentleman."

Levi set down his empty coffee cup, surprised when a footman hurried over, asking if he wanted more. He did.

"And yours?" he drawled, "I know you've got one sap begging to see you in your drawers."

Insult coloured her face briefly and if Levi noticed, he didn't make it known. She breathed and relaxed, reminding herself that he was unaware of how things were done in polite society and that he should be granted a bit of leeway.

"I am unmarried, Mr. Ackerman," she stated with a smile, "my boudoir is ladies only."

"Something Auruo Bossard can't seem to grasp," Erwin chimed in blandly, turning the page of his newspaper.

"Then why not do something about it?" Levi snapped, "you are her guardian."

Erwin shrugged one of his shoulders. "Because it is amusing to me."

"It is amusing to you."

The words came out flat and cold, causing Petra and Erwin to lower their hands and turn their sights to their guest who had stood, palms on the table, a dark shadow over his face.

"And the torment of horny men is amusing to Hanji. And that little blonde bird is amusing to Mike. And _I_ am amusing to Dawk." He turned to Petra, his frown deep, engraved on his face, "what about you, chicken? What amuses you?"

Petra said nothing. She knew better. His breath was ragged and Erwin reached forward to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Levi brushed it off.

"Marco!" he barked, pushing back his chair, "my horse."

Marco nodded, hurrying from the room. Levi followed after him, his gait quick despite his short stature.

"Where is he going?" Petra asked quietly, no longer hungry.

Erwin sighed. "I imagine he's gone off to Hanji's boudoir."

She blinked. "Hanji?" Her eyes went wide then and she gasped, covering her mouth. "You don't mean to tell me… oh poor Mr. Berner."

"And just why do you have sympathies for Moblit now?"

"Well it's just that," she picked up a piece of melon, "it seems to me that Mr. Ackerman and Sir Hanji may have been lovers."

If ever there were a moment Erwin had been thankful not to have food or drink in his mouth, this had been it. Nearly choking on the air he breathed in, he gave his chest a light pound with his fist and cleared his throat.

"While Levi and Hanji are very close, closer than he and I perhaps," he explained, "I assure you he is not visiting her to make a cuckold of Moblit."

Petra let out a breath of relief and allowed her cheeks to redden with embarrassment. She was very fond of Moblit Berner, his protective adoration of his knighted wife in particular, and was happy to know that their troubled new guest was not about to shatter the utopian image she had of her friends' marriage.

"He'll be back," Erwin assured her. "It might take him a couple of days, but he'll be back."

**xxxx**

**Author's Notes:** It's Marco's turn to live. Poor baby. Also I'm totally squealing over Mike as a husband I just... ah I can't handle it.


End file.
